by Mary Easson
A number of figures, silhouetted against the brightness of burning vehicles, were dashing around in the mayhem. Thick, acrid smoke billowed out from the gaping hole that had been the garage and a car was still burning in the middle of the yard. I barely recognised it as the one that had brought me there earlier in the evening. Now the seats were on fire, the soft leather top had melted away and it was fast becoming a burned-out shell.
But where was Donald?
David and Eric were taking control of the situation, organising servants into a line to pass buckets of water from the pump across the yard to where they were needed. A shocked-looking Billy Dodds, the family chauffeur, operated the handle of the pump, his mouth and his eyes open wide as he took in the enormity of what had transpired. Eric quickly joined a young man who was busy at the stables, leading each horse one by one, away from the noise and the smoke, and releasing them into the lower paddock, out of harm’s way. Panicked with fear, a mare with a foal, her motherly instincts spiked out of control, was making difficult work of it.
Rose, I saw, was standing back surveying the scene for casualties, trying not to add to the difficulties faced by the rescuers. At first, there didn’t appear to be anyone in need of assistance but she was waiting in any case. It was touch and go whether the fire would spread to the house or not, and any one of the vehicles lined up round the yard could explode into flames if the heat of the fire wasn’t dowsed and brought under control. Then Rose caught sight of a figure lying on the ground near the paddock. He lay still, holding his arm, looking shocked.
‘Donald? It’s me – Rose,’ I heard her say. ‘What on earth happened here?’
She kneeled down to take a look at his injuries, adjusting her position to see better by the light from the flames behind her. She looked into his eyes. ‘How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?’
My heart leapt with a relief close to joy when I heard him speak.
‘Just a bit stunned, I think. There was an explosion then I found myself on the ground. It happened in an instant. I can’t believe what......’ He lay back and closed his eyes.
Rose felt carefully along the length of Donald’s arm, the one he held awkwardly across his body. ‘Looks like you’ve broken your fore arm. But that’s easily fixed. Move your fingers for me.’ She quickly felt along the length of his legs asking if he had pain anywhere else. His chest? His neck or head? ‘Can you move your legs for me?’
Donald moved each leg in turn. He said his neck felt a bit stiff but he could move his head around without too much difficulty. Rose continued her examination, gently pressing the vertebrae along the length of his neck and spine.
At last, she decided that his arm had taken the worst of it.
‘When things die down, I’ll have you moved to somewhere with a better light and we’ll fix the arm. You’ve a few grazes and a nasty cut on your brow. No burns of any great significance, not that I can see at the moment. A little singeing of your lovely locks but nothing that’ll cause you any real difficulty.’ She took another look at his eyes.
‘Thank you, Rose. Thank you so much. I feel so much better just having you here.’ He lifted his good arm and grasped her hand.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she quipped, replacing his hand where it helped to support his broken arm. ‘All that medical training hasn’t been for nothing then?’
Donald sank back into the grass and glanced across at the fire fighting. Pails of water sloshed along the line to David and Eric who aimed the water at the heart of the fire, as best they could.
‘How did you get all the way over here, Donald?’ Rose asked, concerned. ‘Did you crawl on that arm?’
He shook his head then grimaced. ‘Nope. A lad came along and dragged me out of harm’s way, just in time by the looks of things.’
The fire in Murdo’s car had finally burned out. It stood, a smoking metal frame and little else, where Donald had driven to a halt only minutes before. He looked upwards, remembering what had happened in those few seconds when he had braked by the open garage before Armageddon had erupted. Two men had been lurking in the undergrowth, he said. It was coming back to him. He would let the constabulary know when the time came but he hadn’t had a good enough look at them to be able to describe them, he was sure.
Just then, a call went up and there seemed to be a commotion of some kind. Rose promised to be right back and ran to see what it was.
I had watched in admiration as she examined her patient. How level-headed she had been, how clinical yet... kind. I had stood back in the darkness letting her do her work, praying Donald would be alright and wasn’t suffering. I took Rose’s place beside him and held his hand, brushed my fingers through his sandy-blond hair and looked deep into his eyes.
‘I’m here, Donald. Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll look after you.’
I could see he was in pain. I kissed his hand and held it tight.
The yard was a scene of carnage – flames and smoke – and a hive of activity. Eric had erected a ladder against the wall, called for water to be sent up to him in order to douse the low roof of the stable block and prevent the fire from spreading to the main building.
David led from the front. ‘Keep going, we’ll get there!’ he shouted. ‘Faster at the pump, men!’
‘More water up here,’ shouted Eric from the top of the ladder.
‘Keep it up at the pump!’ shouted David. ‘We’ve got to keep going!’
‘Get me an axe!’ ordered Eric.
An axe was thrown up at him on the ladder. He hacked at the smoking roof, hurled pieces of wood down into the yard below. One or two burst into flame momentarily but were soon dowsed and made safe.
Then David was shouting, ‘Get it off him! Hurry up for God’s sake!’’
Rose was standing by: a calm, slender figure outlined against the glow of the flames. Four or five men surrounded one of the stout garage doors, splintered down one edge by the blast. They lifted it upwards, out of the way.
A blackened body lay perfectly still on the ground.
I craned my neck to see what was what. Whispered enquiries went back and forth. Rose was crouched low beside the body but she was shaking her head.
Who was it, people were saying? Did anybody know who it was?
It took a further thirty minutes of dowsing before they were satisfied that the fire was out and would not reignite, to spread to the rest of the house where it could cause unspeakable devastation. The roof of the stable block – the part that housed the garage – had been destroyed but the buildings around about had been saved, and there was no obvious damage to the house itself beyond the black soot on the walls of the older part of the house where tongues of flame and clouds of smoke had licked upwards at the height of the blaze. It was fortunate that so many people had been on hand to contribute to the fire fighting. David expressed his heartfelt thanks to all in attendance. Several servants sat on the grass recovering from their considerable efforts, eyes wide as the enormity of the calamity that had just been averted hit home. Billy Dodds lay prostrate and inconsolable on the ground, sweat marks down his sooty face and patterning his uniform. All he could say was that it was his fault; it might not have happened if he hadn’t taken so long over his supper and had been on hand to keep an eye on things.
Burly members of the security staff soon put in an appearance saying the constabulary had arrived at the front gate. They had ordered a sweep of the grounds. No one was allowed to leave until everyone present had accounted for their movements.
As I knelt on the ground holding Donald’s hand, I saw a young man who looked familiar walk across to the charred body lying on the gravel. He stood looking at the dead man’s burnt face and soot-covered limbs. Blood glistened from wounds to the hands and forehead, and a foot had been blown off in the explosion. The young man altered his position this way and that, and eventually hunkered down for a better look.
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‘Do you know who he is?’ David asked.
‘Aye,’ he replied, his voice hoarse.
Constable Mackay and a colleague appeared. ‘Weel then, Rob Duncan. Can we have a name?’
‘Grubb. His name’s Jimmy Grubb.’
‘A freen o’ yours, is he?’ asked Mackay.
‘Naw. He’s nae freen o’ mine,’ Rob replied.
‘So how come ye ken ‘im?’
‘Cause he works in the same pit as me. He’s a lodger in the Middle Raw, close-by whaur I bide.’
Mackay was sceptical. ‘Nae ither reason? Like ye mebbe cam here thegither, tae cause bother.’
‘Naw. Nae ither reason.’
‘So, what are you doing here in any case, young man?’ asked David, becoming suspicious, realising this was a pit worker rather than a member of his staff.
Rob Duncan didn’t have time to reply. The two security men sweeping the grounds at the back of the house had returned, shoving two others ahead of them. They were pushed forward, their heads bowed, unable to look at the body on the ground. Mackay asked for their names saying they looked familiar though they hadn’t come to his attention previously for the wrong reasons, as far as he could remember.
‘Hugh Bone.’
‘Malky Moran.’
‘Dae ye ken the deceased?’ Mackay braced himself
‘Aye. It’s James Grubb.’
‘Did ye come wi’ him... wi’ the intention o’ committin’ arson?’
‘Naw,’ the two said together. They were indignant.
Bone began. ‘We cam tae see whit we could lift... ye ken, thieve. We had a quick look then hid in the bushes, waitin’ oor chance. But Jimmy went richt in b’ hissel. Next thing we ken, Woosh! The place is in flames.’
‘Thievin’? No arson?’ asked Mackay.
‘Naw, thievin’ jist. It’s been an accident but no oan oor pairt, oan Jimmy’s.’
In horror, Bone turned his face from the body on the ground.
Mackay studied the two accomplices and then Rob Duncan. His eyes narrowed.
Rob bristled.
‘An’ are ye acquainted wi’ Mr Duncan here, the pair o’ ye?’
‘We ken whau he is,’ replied Moran. ‘Bides in Staney.’
‘An’ did he come wi’ yer wee gang, tae rob the Melvilles?’
‘Naw, he didnae. Ye’ll need tae ask him why he’s here. But he didnae come wi’ us.’ Bone gave Rob Duncan a black look, a look that could kill in other circumstances.
‘This is a gey funny business this,’ said the police officer smoothing down his moustache with a big hand. ‘We’ll tak the three o’ ye in fur questionin’. Bone, Moran, an’ Duncan. Ye can spend the nicht in the cells, till we’re feenished here. We’ll tak a guid look in case there’s onie mair o’ yer pals lurkin’ aboot.’
The suspects were marched off to a vehicle waiting on the road, by the gates to the house. Mackay turned to the laird and a discussion ensued about the possibilities of the men having been involved in a deliberate arson attack, in the light of the laying of tripwires on Rashiepark land back in June. The police officer assured David that he would get to the bottom of the matter when he interviewed the threesome at the police station later that night. It could be that the deceased had indeed had an unfortunate accident with flammable materials stored in the garage. The presence of Mr Duncan was something of a mystery, however. Either his accomplices were covering for him, or he had been up to no good on his own. Perhaps it had just been a coincidence that Grubb, Moran, and Bone were there at the time, though it seemed unlikely. Mr Mackay declared himself not to be a great believer in coincidences.
As Rob Duncan disappeared through the trees ahead of his captors, I thought of his mother and what this would mean to her. I knew her to be a good woman who worked hard for her family in unfortunate circumstances. How would she take the news that her boy was spending the night in police custody? Surely Peggy’s son could not be mixed up in something so insidious?
David thanked Mackay for his prompt attendance, asked for reassurance that the constabulary would be thorough in its investigations but, to his credit, he also asked that the earlier behaviour of Mr Duncan be borne in mind when his character and motives were being assessed. The Duncan lad had been helping to rescue the horses from their stables when the fire first took hold, and had done a sterling job on the pump when Billy Dodds had flagged. It seemed unlikely that a guilty man would hang around at the scene of the crime, only to be apprehended later. To which Mackay gave a snort. In his opinion that was exactly what a guilty man would do, having been seen by witnesses. Had he run off, it would have looked suspicious whereas this way he could play the hero.
Either way, he assured the laird, Constable Archibald Fergus Mackay would get to the truth, no matter what.
Chapter 13
Minn
I’ve been sent inside from the fields to help in the farmhouse. Mrs Gowans doesn’t keep awful well, not since the start of the war. She takes to her bed without warning, doctor’s orders, and it’s usually me who’s sent in by to help out. I can turn my hand to most things and it’s good to get out of the wind and the rain when it’s lashing but I prefer to be in the open air if I can help it. I feel like it’s where I belong, where I’m happiest. More than a day being cooped up like an old hen is too much for me. I could go doolally.
I get on fine with Maisie, the maid. She knows I’m a good worker. It’s baking day so I’ve left her to get on with making tea bread in the kitchen while I do the work in the house. I’ve stoked the fires and filled the coal scuttles, and I’ve taken the carpets out for a beating. I’ll give them an extra twa-three minutes just because it keeps me outside for a bit longer. I have to say I always feel a bit nervous when I’m sent inside but as long as Daisy Gowans isn’t at home I get on with the work no bother. Daisy is Mrs Gowans’ second daughter. She’s the same age as me. In fact, we were at the school thegither. If I’m honest, I was a wee bit jealous of Daisy when we were younger because I thought she had her eye on Rob – well she did for a while – but that was before he had to leave the school to support his family.
When I was working at Netherside, I didn’t see her for long enough until the day of the big party when I was sent to the Big House to help out. It was a fine morning and I was glad to be going to Parkgate for a change from my normal routine. It always seemed an exciting place to me. My big sister, Nell, was in service there and I loved to hear her stories. Anyway, I was walking through the wood – Paddy’s Wood – between Netherside and Redburn and that’s when I caught up with Daisy and her mother on the path. They were taking eggs from the farm to help feed all the guests who had descended on the Melvilles. The guests had come with enormous cases and appetites to match, apparently. I knew Daisy straight away though she was taller than I’d remembered. Her hair was in a prefect blond pigtail down her back and she wore a braw grey pinafore and a white shirt with lacy cuffs. She walked like she had half a dozen books on her head, like the papers and journals say you should if you want to be a lady, and she acted as if she had never laid eyes on me. Mrs Gowans reminded her though.
‘It’s Minn Graham fae the Rows,’ she said. ‘You were at the school thegither and had the same teacher at the Sabbath School. Mind?’
Daisy was having none of it. She walked on with her head high. I suppose that was when I realised how much had changed in the short time since we had left the school – me to work as a farm servant over at Netherside and Daisy attending the big school in Bathgate with a view to becoming a schoolteacher in the future. Nothing had changed as far as I was concerned. For me, we would always be the girls we were but plenty had changed about Daisy.
At the time, I was in turmoil about Rob and it crossed my mind that I was being punished for feeling jealous about Daisy when we were younger. One of my mother’s sayings came to mind. Careful what ye wish for. I had wished
for Rob for so long and it wasn’t turning out as I expected.
It felt like torture to relive his two kisses over and over again. When I’d headed back up the hill path for Netherside again, at the start of the working week after the Gala Day, I knew I wasn’t that earnest and innocent girl anymore, the one who had walked home by the same route only two days before, looking forward to my first dance. The years of wishing and wondering what it would feel like to be with him had come to an end. The very thought of him started the same breathlessness, the same fluttering inside that I’d felt when he’d pushed up against me in the lane behind the hall, and pressed his mouth to mine, eager and hard.
Annie found me fickle. I seemed far away, she said. It took some time before I could reply to Annie’s questions right enough. I heard them alright but it felt like they were being said in the distance or in another room. I had to swallow hard before I could answer, remembering Rob’s dark eyes staring into mine, and how they’d seemed to penetrate further, deep inside me.
Rob was one thing but what happened after the dance when I’d returned home was another. I came in the door to find Uncle Peter spilling the beans to my father who had already been told by Tommy and the other children about my secret letter.
My father’s disappointment weighed more heavily than his fury. In time, he could have forgiven two kisses from a young man, even if they had been delivered furtively in a back lane, but the revelation made in Meg’s letter that I was scheming and secretive was harder for a father to bear. When he confronted me, a huge strong hand gripping the letter, I was no longer his gentle, sweet Minn who had skipped along the road with her sisters and rushed to make him tea when he came home from his work in the past. He might call me a daft lassie to my face but I was now an altogether different creature in his eyes – one with all the cunning and guile of a grown woman.
Despite my assurances that Rob knew nothing of what was in the letter, we’d made no plans of any kind and we’d had nothing at all to do with each other until that evening, my father made me promise to have no more to do with him. It all sounded a might unsavoury as far as he was concerned.